The Fellowship: Sardonic, Sentimental, and Shiny
by Telturwen
Summary: FotR in a whole new light: Frodo's a drunken lout with hearing problems, Boromir has a short attention span and a restraining order, Gandalf has dependency issues, and the Counsel of Elrond takes five minutes. A joke? Why, yes. That was my intention.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** Every character and situation in this story probably belongs either to J.R.R. Tolkien or Peter Jackson, except the really crazy ones. You'll be able to tell.  
**Author's Note:** This story is based off of a screenplay-like parody that I wrote a very, very long time ago. I'm certain anyone who read the previous version will like this one better. Hopefully no one has read the previous version. I've not decided if I'll be continuing the re-write, so the more reviews the more I write. There is a lock of mocking, sarcasm, OOC, and several crude jokes about some of the characters and situation in the Lord of the Rings universe. If you can't handle that, I suggest you don't read this. If you can understand that everything I just listed is for purely comedic and entertainment purposes, and that I honest to God_ love_ the Lord of the Rings and am in no way attempting to sully its good name, then I bid you read on!

**The Fellowship: Sardonic, Sentimental, and Shiny**

_Prologue_

It all began when we were given three rings. Then the Dwarves got seven rings, and nine rings were given to Men. All of the rings were quite pretty, and they all gave us the power to rule our race. But we were so preoccupied with ruling and gazing in awe at our rings that we hadn't noticed Sauron. He's the bad guy in this story, mind you. He made a ring more powerful then all the rings we were given. It even made you disappear when you put it on, so it was cooler than ours, too, damn him. He started to take control over Middle-earth, and the evil that came from his domain in Mordor spread rapidly.

An alliance of men and elves went to fight his oppression. Some pretty famous kings died in that battle. Unfortunately, we did not perceive that Sauron would have such a big, scary staff thingy, and we discovered that the hard way. In a fit of rage, Isildur cut off Sauron's fingers and coincidentally the Ring of Power flew off with them. After that, Isildur took the Ring for his own, even though Elrond had forewarned him of the danger. Thus Isildur established the idea that Elves are and will forevermore be better than the race of Man. I'm just sayin'.

Like, a long time later, one of the river folk, Deagol, found the Ring in a river while fishing with his friend, Smeagol. When he picked it up, he and Smeagol were instantly ensnared. They fought each other for it until Smeagol choked Deagol to death. Not Smeagol, Deagol. None of this should be confusing because the names of these people are nothing alike.

Smeagol left his home and started to become deformed, ugly, and generally disgusting, calling himself Gollum. He went off to the Misty Mountains, thinking there he would be safe and secluded from the world. He lived there for many longs years, becoming increasingly dependent on the Ring, but like most relationships, this could not last. The Ring grew tired of Gollum's clingy nature, constant stroking and endearments. It needed some space. It fell, unknown to Gollum, and was picked up by a Hobbit of the Shire.

No idea what a Hobbit is? Little creatures, generally obsessed with food, weed, and alcoholic beverages. So basically human teenagers, but smaller. Bilbo Baggins was his name, and he took the Ring, not knowing what it was, and after many years he still has it. The guy is one hundred and eleven years old, and today is his birthday.

But what kind of story would that make if it ended happily ever after with no deaths or maimings or dismal decisions for readers to brood over for the next ten years? There are plenty of all these essential elements within the following story, including but not limited to: foreshadowing, angst, lame and sometimes amusing exclamations, temporary OOC, disorder, chaos, confusion, miraculous and spontaneous appearances of characters and items, teleportation, and the need to touch shiny objects. With those assurances, the story begins…


	2. Bilbo's Book

**The Fellowship: Sardonic, Sentimental, and Shiny**

_Bilbo's Book_

Bilbo sat comfortably in the chair at his desk, thinking hard—but not too hard, because he had a very painful tendency to get Thinking Cramps. He was attempting to begin the book of his trip across Middle-earth, but every good book needs a title.

"_The Life of Bilbo Baggins, the Autobiography_, by Bilbo Baggins," Bilbo said in his most confident voice. His head dropped to his desk atop the first blank page of his book. "_The Life of a Hobbit. A Hobbit's Life_?" he mumbled into the wooden desk fruitlessly.

There was a knock on the door and Bilbo picked up his head to yell, "We don't want any!"

"I haven't got any!" someone yelled back at him.

"A likely story," he said to himself. "Damn solicitors always showing up. They're there, then they leave, and then they're back again." For a moment it seemed as if a light bulb popped up over Bilbo's head. "_There and Back Again, A Hobbit's Tale,_ by Bilbo Baggins. Oh, that's good."

He hovered over his blank book, starting to scribble the words out with his quill, but as the ink dried on the page, he discovered he had none left in his inkwell.

"You going to open the door," said the voice at the door suddenly, "or do I need to get my battering ram?"

"I am only getting up for ink, so if you're selling ink, or some ink-like product—"

"Uh, sure!"

Bilbo cocked his head. "Well, that's awfully convenient." He jumped off his stool and ran to the door to open it. On the other side stood a disgruntled and tall wizard with a pointed hat and a grey cloak. "Gandalf!" he shouted in surprise and wrapped his arms around what he could reach of his legs.

"I'm not happy being treated like some common Girl Scout."

"Sorry, but you can't be too careful," Bilbo replied. "If I buy one more box from them, we're going to be out of a hole. So, you're not really selling ink, are you, because I need it bad."

"Finally starting your book?"

"Well, I thought up a title, and if I don't write it down stat I'm going to—damn it!" Bilbo looked up at Gandalf in dismay. "I forgot it."

"You have surprisingly awful short term memory."

They moved into the house, sitting down at the table in the kitchen.

"Would you like to talk about your feelings," Gandalf offered, "or are you going to just sit there brooding silently?"

Bilbo's frown deepened. "I'm thinking about what Frodo's going to think if I leave him behind."

"What do you think he'll think?"

"I guess he'll think I'm crazy for thinking he'd care anything about my leaving, which leads me to think he doesn't think I'm such great company to have around as it is. And I think that's a bit depressing."

Gandalf was staring at the Hobbit, then blinked as he ended his thought. "Ya think?"

"But I'm leaving anyway. I don't know about the mountains, though. Maybe I'll settle down in Rivendell. I'll finally be left in peace to finish my book."

"Finish?" asked the wizard with a raised eyebrow, smiling a little. "You haven't even started it. But what do you mean, you want to forego the mountains? I thought we were going to have a great weekend up there on the Lonely Mountain with Balin and the gang. I mean, you've seen the brochure! Mountain climbing, dragon slaying, rock climbing…"

"Yes, yes, but I've done it all before. I'm going to Rivendell right after my party. I've just decided."

"And you have yet to tell Frodo?" Gandalf asked, but Bilbo didn't answer. "He's a good lad. He'll understand."

"Frodo's a good lad?" Frodo repeated from the doorway, leaning against it while chomping down on an apple. "Did I just hear Gandalf say that?"

Gandalf and Bilbo quickly turned round in their seats.

"How much have you heard?" they said in sync, nervously.

"Whenever you mentioned my name. I just love the sound of it. _Frodo_. Such a great name, ya know?"

Bilbo peered into the other room where Frodo had quite obviously been napping several moments previous. He pulled out his Note-to-Self notepad from his pocket and scribbled down, 'Frodo's name no longer safe to use openly. Code word: Pickle.'

"Now what will I be understanding?" asked Frodo, biting into his apple.

"Nothing!" Gandalf said quickly. "Nothing at all! Really, it's nothing."

Frodo looked at Gandalf suspiciously for a moment, and the wizard began to sweat profusely and look guilty of something.

"Okie doke," Frodo said, then jumped back onto the couch and closed his eyes.

"Close one," Bilbo exclaimed.

"Indeed!" said Gandalf, wiping off his sweaty forehead with a napkin. "The next time you're talking about something you don't want—" Bilbo quickly shoved his Note-to-Self notepad to the other side of the table so the wizard would read it. "—_Pickle_ to hear, make sure he's out of the house."

Frodo walked into the kitchen again and glanced over the table in longing. "Weren't you guys _just_ talking about pickles?" he asked, frustrated. "Where are they?"

Bilbo looked up at Frodo in bewilderment at his utter stupidity, then sighing he replied, "We ate them."


End file.
